


to build a home

by aguamarina



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: M/M, and they love each other to death, sander has a little sister called camille
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22214290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aguamarina/pseuds/aguamarina
Summary: whenever camille looks back, there are a lot of memories there, waiting to resurface. smiles, days at the beach, hugs, bowls of soup, mama, sleepless nights, piles of books. sander is there, too, but that's a given —at least in camille's mind.sander has always, always been there.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 13
Kudos: 256





	to build a home

the first time camille read the little prince, it was october and it had been raining nonstop since morning. the book was slightly worn, a second-hand copy sander gave her on her birthday, the cover mint green and white. she read it all in one go and loved everything about it: the stars, the forty three sunsets, the secret elephant. every little detail, camille loved it dearly.

but if she had to choose, camille especially loved the fox.

 _if you are gonna come by four, i'll begin to be happy by three._ camille loved that part. she had reread it a thousand times, and every one of those times she always felt it in the little place inside her where things stick and become a part of you. that excitement, coiled in your chest, wound tight.

camille loves it because she understands it. because she feels like that, too, sometimes. just like the fox. every wednesday night, she goes to bed already buzzing, smile on her face, because thursdays are special days —for a lot of reasons, in theory. the weekend is one day closer. there's no maths at school on thursday.

thursdays are also the only days in the week where sander doesn't have to leave earlier than her because college starts a bit later, which means he always sticks around for breakfast.

which only means one thing in camille's mind, too.

"sander?"

sander doesn't turn around when she calls him from her bedroom door. he keeps walking down the hall, absentmindedly, scratching his arm.

but it's thursday, though. it's their day. camille knows better than to give up that quick.

"sander?", she repeats, running all the way to his side, pulling softly on his t-shirt.

sander turns around then, slowly, rubbing his eyes. "yeah?"

he looks a bit tired. that's the first thing camille notices: there's purple under his eyes, something she always thought only happened in movies. the skin also looks swollen, like camille could poke it with her fingers as if they were little bags.

she thinks about asking sander about them, if the skin hurts. if it is because he couldn't sleep.

sander's still staring at her, though, eyebrows slightly pinched —and suddenly, just like that, camille doesn't dare ask. not about the bags, not about their thursday thing. not after seeing frowny-sander.

frowny-sander can be grumpy sometimes. or sad. camille doesn't like bothering him when he's being grumpy or sad.

"nothing", she answers, lightning fast, looking at the floor.

sander has a confused frown for a second before something warm shines in his eyes, making him snort softly.

"you sure? didn't sound like nothing", he says, arching an eyebrow. he's stopped walking, staring now down at her with a smirk.

like that, sander looks like a bit like a wolf. camille wonders when will he listen to mama and finally cut his hair.

camille nods again, "i'm sure", hands behind her back. 

"you are really sure? nothing?", sander insists, smiling. "because today it's thursday".

before she can even react to the statement, though, sander is suddenly picking her up from the floor, placing her on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

camille screams, half laughing, punching him softly on the back as he starts walking. "put me down, sander! sander!"

sander ignores her completely, only letting her down when they get to the bathroom, switching on the lights. the floor is ice cold and camille regrets not having put on socks before coming out of her room.

sander starts rummaging instantly in the cupboards under the sink, looking through them. camille has to bite her lips to hide her smile when she sees him pull out her most favourite hair brush first, deep blue and soft.

"you didn't think i'd forgotten, right?", he asks after a minute, turning around, arching his eyebrows.

camille huffs, rolling her eyes. "well, you really can be a disaster sometimes", she teases instead, tries unsuccessfully to get out of his reach before sander guffaws and ruffles her hair, settling down right after on the edge of the bathtub.

sander claps his hands, then, settling down. "so, what's it gonna be today, miss?", he asks, smiling at their reflection in the mirror. sander is still in his pyjamas, soft blue pants and white worn t-shirt, messy hair.

camille stares, too, at sander's eyes and hers, always especially green at this time in the morning. they look so alike sometimes, even with sander’s icy-white hair now. camille loves it when they look alike.

"a ponytail?", sander asks again, camille softly shaking her head. "a bun, then?", sander continues, grabs her hair to imitate the hairstyle. "two buns?"

"sander, no!", she screams in the end, laughing, trying to turn around in his arms.

he laughs, hands on her shoulders, smile teasing. "what, then?", even though he already knows the answer. camille _knows_ he knows the answer.

"braids, you dumb!", she says anyways, smiling, already closing her eyes.

sander kisses the crown of her head softly. camille likes it when sander kisses her like that. it's warm, like milk and honey.

the thing is, mom does her braids most of the days, and they always end up looking fine: they're tight, no loose strands, camille can jump all she wants and they'll last the whole day —but they are not sander's braids. sander always has a surprise. a new hairtie the colour of the sky, a new pattern in her hair that looks wavy and so beautiful and makes her look just like a princess. sometimes there are loose strands, but camille doesn't mind it very much. not when he has sander's fingers running through her hair softly, brushing it all back behind her ears.

sander has a way of making it always look beautiful.

"braids it is, then, miss", he says, tapping the bit of bathtub in front of him. "come".

camille steps in front of the mirror and between the little space of sander's legs. he's the perfect height like this, hands already softly brushing her hair in broad strokes. sander's hands are always so nice, soft and cold. he always runs a little bit cold, like his blood is light blue. sharing a bed with him is the best in summer, when everything is sweaty and yucky but still sander has a way to remain a little island of cool skin.

it's always the same pattern, when they do this: sander's fingers running from the roots of her hair down the length of it, softly parting it, working with it in clever ways. camille likes to keep her eyes mostly away from her reflection while he works, staring at everything and anything around so she can be surprised by the end.

she stares around, hearing the soft music coming from sander's phone. camille recognizes the song immediately, the soft guitar chords.

"space oddity", she sing-songs, smiling softly, not even waiting for sander to ask. she's heard it a thousand times. she's heard them all.

she can feel the brief smile that sander smiles into her hair, laughing quietly before getting back to work.

"you are going to be the coolest kid at school one day, just wait", he says, while he starts braiding the left side of her hair. 

camille wonders how knowing one song could make her cool. nobody listens to this at her school. in fact, nobody listens to this but sander, as far as she knows. she thinks about telling him, but sander is humming softly, happily for once this morning, no longer frowny-sander, so camille decides to keep her thoughts to herself.

"done", says sander after a while, softly caresses the length of the braids. "you like it?"

camille stares at herself in the mirror, blinking rapidly to get used to the bathroom light. the braids look apparently plain: the pattern itself is normal, except for the lace intertwined down the whole length of them, green like grass and apples, like the colour of her eyes.

she turns around, kisses sander's cheek messily. "thanks!"

"camille, breakfast is on the table!", mama shouts, her voice coming from the kitchen. 

she turns around before leaving, bopping sander's nose while they're still the same height. the purple under his eyes looks even worse from up close, like it's tattoed on his skin somehow. camille doesn't like it one bit.

now that he's no longer frowning, she dares going ahead. "you should sleep more, you know. these don't look good".

camille doesn't wait for sander to answer. she runs out of the bathroom, stomach grumbling already, smiling happily at the idea of her friends staring at her beautiful braids the whole day.

\--

there are some things camille just knows. like the back of her hand or her name, familiar as breathing. she knows them like she knows giraffes actually the same neck vertebrae as all mammals do (it's seven!), like cereals always go before pouring milk in the bowl, thank you very much.

today, the sun is softly setting and camille doesn't need to turn the corner that leads into the living room before she knows what she'll find, already hearing the softly scratch of pencil, the low hum of a familiar voice.

another thing camille just knows: every moment she isn't looking, sander is probably drawing.

sander draws anywhere. on the kitchen counter, criss-cross applesauce on the sofa, in the back of the family van, even while they're driving and everyone else is almost nauseous to the point of sickness. he's always drawing. he'd carry that ugly, bitten-down orange pencil of his with him even to the end of the world and not a day goes by that camille doesn't catch him lost in thought, frowning slightly while he paints.

it became comforting, in the end. it's always been. something that just _is_. sander and his drawings, since camille can remember. something that stays and stays and never changes in her memories, whenever she looks back. 

he does it so well, too, landscapes and objects, but especially people. sander loves drawing people. camille finds it strange, because sander has never been a people person, but his sketches are always human. there's always something living about them.

camille loves the way sander draws her, especially. she's always so pretty in his drawings, all soft angles, dusty freckles. even her eyes look greener somehow when sander is the one who paints them, a pool of seafoam. she asked once, why she drew her like that. sander told her he just drew her as the princess she was.

camille tried drawing once, but she didn't like it much. sander gifted her a big case of shiny new pencils, so many different colours, bright and alive. he looked so happy about it that camille tried and tried, but whenever she tried to paint she got always so easily distracted and bored. everything was so bright outside: the plants, the animals, the sky, waiting to be discovered. she had no time to sit inside quietly, create on a paper like sander did. the world was outside waiting for her to just taste it and touch it and listen to it.

she still remembers that one day, getting home after a family birthday party covered in mud. she found a pond filled with frogs and tadpoles and stood there for hours fishing, keeping tenths of them inside a jar to take them home. she ended up freeing them in the end, but she can still remember the way they swam inside the jar, so many black twinkling dots, like a sky backwards. her skin itched for days because getting so close to the pond made her rub her skin badly with the wrong kind of stinging nettle, leaving red angry marks that wouldn't fade for at least a month.

that's the day when camille learnt another one of those things she just _knows:_ sander draws, but she definitely doesn't. sander paints the world, but camille wants to explore it. shake its hand warmly. discover everything it has to offer.

camille can still remember the sting, the tears. sander helped cure the worst of it while he listened warmly to her adventures, while she showed him the jar. the case of pretty pencils remained closed, dusty in some box in her room, but neither of them mentioned it again.

it was the best day in the whole world.

\--

there are other things, though, especially about sander, that camille doesn't understand much. that are difficult to tell, fuzzy, like watching the movements of fish beyond the surface and trying to guess the species just by that. you know it's a fish. telling _which_ is just a whole another different story.

sander was diagnosed ( _diagnosed_ , one of those big, fancy words camille made herself learn early on), before camille could even be aware of it. she doesn't remember much. just white halls, her mother still, dad shouting, the smell of antibiotics and silence. so much silence.

that's something camille has come to recognize, a pattern in the mess: there's always so much silence at home sometimes.

the only thing she knows is that sometimes sander is very very up and others very very down. she used the words _happy_ and _sad_ once, but sander didn't like them very much. he sat her down once up in his bedroom after that, on top of the messy covers and told her that it was more like in those rollercoasters she loves so much in the fair. Very up-up and down-down the next moment, that butterfly feeling in your stomach all the time. the not being able to control it, too.

camille thinks she got it, after that. sander got the ticket for the hardest rollercoaster, but it's okay. it's still sander the one inside.

besides, it's not sander's fault that his rollercoaster is harder and scarier. in fact, camille is sure that sander is the one who's most scared of all.

it still doesn't make it easier, though, sometimes. camille knows, but it still doesn't make it any easier somehow.

sander hasn't come out of his room for two days. camille tried waiting for him on thursday, but sander didn't come down for breakfast at all. mama offered to braid her hair but camille instead decided to wear it loose, almost like a statement, the strands tangling in a thousand knots by the end of the day. camille pulls down on those knots with her fingers, wanting to feel them. 

on saturday, camille can't take it anymore. the sun has only risen, a blur of orange and pink swirls on the sky but she's already stumbling out of her bed, opening the door silently. she picks up arctos on the last moment, the plush wolf squished against her chest while she walks down the hall.

she climbs the wooden ladder a bit unsteadily, needing both arms and legs to do so, arctos under her chin so he doesn't fall. it wobbles a little but stays there, secured against her body.

for a second, after finishing climbing, camille feels completely out of place. her brother's room has always been a bit of a strange land: up in the attic, the light filtering from the round window, all odd angles and wooden floors that creak and posters and drawings all around, the mattress directly on the floor. she only comes up rarely, when sander wants to show her something, when she needs sander's help and he has headphones on so he can't hear her. never without his permission.

today, the window is completely covered and the room is dark blue, like a night without stars.

she leaves Arctos on the nightstand, a bit unsurely. it slumps a little so camille fixes it until it's on a seated position, guarding over sander carefully.

 _that'll do_. 

"sander?", she asks, then. the silence is deafening.

when she squints, the only thing she can see is his silhouette, a little bump over the mattress. it doesn't budge when she calls his name.

camille sits down tentatively on the bed. when sander doesn't budge she then tries lying down softly, wrapping an arm over sander's frame carefully, who's facing the other way. it's so easy, actually: sander's always been thin, just like her, two little noodles. she can feel his ribs against her fingers, beneath the fabric of the t-shirt. camille hugs him harder, wraps her limbs around sander's body.

sander's body is cold, colder than usual, in spite of all the blankets. camille tries to warm him up slowly, rubbing his hands on his arms, his sides. when she lays her head on his shoulder blade slightly, camille can feel his breathing and it calms her, somehow. it's stable. camille matches hers to sander's, breathes in and out at the same time.

"hi, little monkey".

sander's voice sounds like the roughest sandpaper. it's tired and low but it's sander, so camille hugs him even tighter, wraps herself around his body. 

"hi, little wolf", she whispers against his skin, their little code names whispered in the darkness of the room. "how are you?"

it takes a while. camille waits, though. she can't place exactly why, but she knows she has to wait.

sander is always so patient with her. braiding her hair, waiting for her to get out of school. she can be patient with him for once, too.

after what feels like a lifetime, sander turns around, facing her. even in the darkness, camille can make out the curve of a little smile.

"i'm okay, little monkey", he answers. camille thinks it sounds gentle. "don't worry".

"but-", she starts, but sander isn't having any of it. he opens his arm softly instead, nods with his head.

"come", he says. it's low, but it sounds steady. "lay with me for a little while".

camille doesn't wait. she hides her face against sander's neck instantly, closing her eyes, breathing him in. she can feel sander fixing the blanket behind her back so they are both wrapped completely in it, not even a little gap of air.

"there", sander says. camille can feel the softest kiss on her hair. "wrapped like a burrito, we are".

"i love burritos", camille whispers, smiling softly. maybe they can have them for dinner soon, when sander finally feels okay enough to get out of bed. the three of them. maybe she can help sander cook, stir the pot while sander cuts the vegetables so fast, lightning fast. sander could tell some of his jokes. camille sometimes hates it when sander jokes, but she'd love to hear him joking and teasing and laughing right now. 

sander doesn't answer back, but it's okay. camille burrows further against his neck, lets herself drift to sleep next to him. 

mama told her sander hurts inside sometimes, an invisible wound. camille doesn't know how to stop it from bleeding, so she just hugs him as tight as she can, willing for everything inside to stay untouched. she just hopes that her and arctos are enough to keep sander safe forever.

\----

it was dark the day dad left. camille doesn't remember much.

her mother cried. she can still taste her tears on her tongue. sander cried too, camille knows it, but never in front of her. 

sander always held her, so tight it almost bruised. camille remembers the screams. sander screamed a lot that night. mom did too. even the walls felt like they had been screaming for hours on end.

she remembers the purple that bloomed in sander's face and stayed there for weeks, deep and angry. it reminded camille of the nebulae and galaxies in her astronomy books, all surrounded by darkness. sander seemed to be surrounded by darkness, too, for a while. for as long as the galaxies in his face stayed.

but never around her. he never had edges with her. sander held her and camille felt like sander encompassed the sun.

sander appeared with bleached hair a couple days later, and mama said nothing about it, so camille didn't either. 

she wanted to ask a million questions. a million. _are you okay? is dad coming home?_

in the end she just asked:

"so, white hair? are you old now?"

and sander said:

"yes, and you'll be old and grey too by my age. sounds cool?"

it actually sounded cool. it sounded like elsa from frozen, camille thought. she said it out loud.

sander laughed for the first time in weeks and it sounded almost like broken glass.

they rewatched frozen that night, cuddled on the sofa. elsa looked so pretty with her white hair, but so alone too, at first, up in her icy castle. camille stared at sander, all bathed in the television light, shadows flickering on his face. 

it could be her mind playing tricks on her, but camille thought sander also looked the same kind of lonely.

\---

the first time camille meets robbe, it's almost christmas and the house is covered in lights and baubles and glittery snow. it's early morning and the house smells like vanilla and hot chocolate, mama making it on the stove: the smell is strong enough to waft from the kitchen all the way to her bedroom, waking her up.

"we are meeting someone today, baby", mama says, when she's already in the kitchen, but she says it with a smile so camille just nods, takes her hot chocolate mug and starts drinking from it.

"is sander coming home?", she asks instead.

she's been asking that question daily, now. she tries not to, know it's better to wait, but it's been a lot of days already. and all of them without sander.

"yes, darling", says mama, and suddenly camille can't hear anything else. her brain starts fizzling, a can of freshly opened soda.

she doesn't know much. sander was up-up and then sander was down-down and then suddenly sander just _wasn't_ and mama couldn't sleep, so camille slept with her in bed and couldn't sleep either and nobody did her braids and nobody made her laugh.

"it's sander's boyfriend, darling. so we're going to be nice to him, okay? his name is robbe".

it sounds important. it sounds big. it sounds bigger than britt ever sounded, but then again, camille never liked her much.

it's not the first time camille has heard from robbe, too. mama wouldn't stop saying that _sander is safe, darling, he'll come back in a few days_ , but truth is, the last time camille saw him he was pale and wrapped in blankets. she doesn't _know_ , not really. not until she sees him herself.

 _robbe._ she has a name, at least. something to latch on to.

camille nods and her mom smiles, but she silently starts plotting instead. imagining the boy. _robbe_.

she decides on the spot to hate him on principle. he's been keeping sander from her, after all. he's the reason why he isn't here. 

when she sees sander on the door, an hour later, camille just bolts. she jumps on him because she knows sander can take it and sander does, holds her in his arms, spins her around like he always does. he smells a bit weird, like a detergent she doesn't know and a cologne she's never smelled, but it's sander and she's never been happier in all her life. the hot chocolate this morning doesn't even stand a chance.

"hi, little monkey", he says, puts her softly back on the floor. his smile is one of his softest. "i wanted to introduce you to someone".

robbe has smile lines and his eyes are brown and big and so different from mama's and sander's and hers, when he stares back, saying hi. they make camille think of puppies, but she needs to be angry at robbe, so she can't think of puppies right now. she answers curtly and turns around, tries not to dwell on it or sulk with the way in which sander seems to latch onto the boy. the boy who took sander away.

they are on the sofa now, sander and robbe on one side, her on the other. the evening is cold, camille wrapped herself in her big pink blanket.

sander is lost in some drawing, robbe talking about something she can't hear along with mama, but it must be nice because mama is smiling softly, nodding along before standing up suddenly, seemingly to pick up a call. camille doesn't want to listen to any of it, though, so she's reading, a gift from aunt meredith, but the book is hard and she's struggling so much to keep up. 

it's so frustrating. she knows she's smart, but this book is making her feel like her brain is filled with wet cotton.

"sander, do you know what mocellules are exactly?"

"what?", sander hums, rising his eyes from the sketchbook, blinking lazily. he looks like he's been woken from another dimension.

camille is used to that look. her heart tugs softly with how much she'd missed it.

"yeah", she says, rolling her eyes like she's talking to a small child. "mo-ce-llules. they are everywhere!"

camille frowns, re-reading the last paragraph. the images are so cool, tiny balls rotating, brightly coloured, but nothing seems to make sense. it almost makes her angry, knowing it's all on _there_ but not being able to access it.

sander frowns, scratches his ear softly, placing his orange pencil behind his ear. "i don't know? like, they make everything?"

"you mean molecules?"

it's the first time that camille has heard robbe speak directly to her since he arrived —which, honestly, is probably camille's own fault. he has a soft voice, sweeter than she expected. when she turns slightly to look at him he's biting his lip, ruffling his own hair.

he really, really looks like a dumb puppy.

camille thinks about rolling her eyes again, but this is sander's boyfriend, so she doesn't want to be rude. 

"yes, okay", she corrects herself, checking the book. "molecules. sander is just dumb and never helps with anything".

"hey!", sander yelps, but camille pays him no mind.

"molecules are, uh, the little balls that make up everything that it's alive", robbe starts, pointing slightly with his fingers. "there are a lot of different types of them, and depending on their type, they carry out different tasks".

camille absorbs this thought, tries to digest the image while staring emptily at her book, looking up at robbe again. "so, what size are they?"

robbe smiles, scoots a little closer on the sofa. "extremely tiny! look", he says, takes a strand of hair from his own head. "do you see this?"

camille nods, staring at the almost non-existent width of the hair in robbe's hand. when sunlight sweeps it, it looks almost auburn.

"well, this hair has millions of molecules, of so many kinds. molecules are tiny. we can't see them. but they make up everything".

"oh, okay", she says, turning a little on robbe's direction. "that's awesome, though! are all the same size exactly? because this book–"

"you read all that about molecules in your book? that's pretty advanced stuff!", robbe says instead, looking truly impressed. camille can't help but feel a huff of pride in her chest.

"yes, but", she starts, stops then to frown. maybe it's okay if she's vulnerable with robbe. just a bit. "i don't understand that much".

there's a second, there, robbe wringling his own hands. it takes camille a while to figure that robbe is probably nervous.

"here, let me, i mean– can i?"

before camille knows it, she's sitting next to robbe, laying slightly against him, the book opened in both their laps.

camille likes the way in which robbe speaks while they flip the pages, soft but firm, explaining things but never overdoing it. the way in which he speaks to her. like she's not dumb, like she can keep up. camille is the smartest girl _or_ boy from her class: she can definitely keep up. 

"so, like, some are robots and other are food and others are building blocks and others are cars?", camille says after a while, robbe nodding. "but that's so cool! sander, are you hearing this?"

sander isn't hearing it. sander isn't hearing anything. he's fast asleep on the other half of the sofa, already snoring softly, sketchbook on the floor.

when camille looks up, robbe is staring at him, too. he's smiling, and it's so soft. sweet, maybe, even though she wouldn't admit it even for all the hot chocolate in the world.

thing is, though, camille can't be angry at robbe if he smiles at sander like that.

and there, in that room, it suddenly happens. camille feels it, the bulb lighting up.

"do you want to watch a movie?", camille asks, tentatively, staring at everything but robbe. "i have the new disney one".

there's a second of silence. camille wonders if robbe even heard her.

"sure", robbe answers finally, shrugging softly, but he's smiling so much that camille can't help but start smiling, too.

she can definitely start to see why sander likes him so much.

"good", she adds. camille tentatively lays next to robbe, but robbe opens his arms so she takes it as a cue and slumps against him, covering themselves with her own fluffy pink blanket. robbe is warm. the blanket is warm. 

it's really, really nice.

when sander wakes up an hour later he says nothing, at least not out loud: he just stares at them and moves to cuddle on her other side, arm spread so he can envelop robbe too over the couch. camille watches softly, the way robbe nuzzles against sander's hand, like he trusts him. it makes camille think.

maybe robbe can actually help, after all. maybe they can take care of sander the both of them together.

camille can't find it in herself to feel anything other but desperately happy. 

\--

there's this warm memory camille has, shiny and glossy at the corners, a bit battered by the passing of time.

it was a sunny day for february, so sunny, orange skies and warm sea. sander carried her on his shoulders and they swam across the beach, they built castles that the sea took away a breath after. the wind was rough, but they laughed and it echoed and the sand felt warm under their skin, and camille spent hours looking for the prettiest shells, finding one that shone iridiscent under the midday sunlight.

camille still has a picture taken that day, along with that shell, secretly keeps it all under her mattress. sander is holding her in that picture, arms across her shoulders, chin on top of her head. they look so alike in that picture. same eyes, same nose, same tawny hair before sander bleached it. camille loves it so much. anyone who looked at this picture would know: that they are brother and sister. that sander is her big brother, unmistakeably.

it makes her feel warm inside —always has, the way sander has always protected her. the way he's always made her feel completely safe.

\---

it happened on a tuesday afternoon, eating chocolate-chip cookies on the living room, some soap opera on. there it was, on the tv: a pretty girl in a pretty dress, lying on the hammock of her pretty pool. that's when she asked it. _but how? how can i know i love him, miranda? i just don't know._

camille doesn't know who miranda even is, but the question stuck with her somehow. love, okay. camille has read about what love is. maleficent woke aurora with a true love's kiss. it was only anna's desperate sacrifice for elsa that melted the ice in her heart. but how do you _know?_

camille asked sander one day while he was having breakfast, but he had just smiled softly into his bowl of cereal, a funny glint in his eyes. in the end, he answered _when you can draw them from memory alone,_ and camille guesses it must make sense to him. it didn't make any kind of sense to her. she doesn't even understand what drawing from memory means now, a couple days later, lying on the sofa while reading.

the moment the doorbell rings, camille knows it's robbe at the door. it's happened a couple times already, plus no one else ever comes.

camille wonders if sander plans to give robbe a key anytime soon. it certainly would be a lot less work than having to stand up from the warm sofa just to open the door whenever he comes, cold tiles burning her feet.

when she opens it, though, robbe is smiling and that's enough to make camille smile too.

"what are you reading today?", robbe asks, getting closer, once he's through the door. he's wearing a scarf and a beanie, so camille guesses it must be pretty cold outside too, the streets covered in rain.

camille plops down on the sofa, drapping the blanket again over her. "it's on stars, you know, that stuff", she says. "do you like stars?"

"it depends", he says, sitting down next to her, taking his scarf off. "which ones? starfish or sky stars?"

camille snorts, and the way robbe instantly stares at her makes her scrunch her nose up slightly.

"what?", she asks, suspiciously.

robbe blushes in a second. "no, you just–", he starts, smiling. "you just snort in the same exact way your brother does, did you know that?"

"i totally do not!"

"yes, you do! but it's the cutest!", he says, and okay, camille can take it then. she smiles happily, going back to her book.

"so, sky stars then?", robbe asks again, camille nodding. "did you know that the light that reaches us from stars is millions of years old?"

camille didn't know that. camille didn't know a lot of things, apparently, not about astronomy and not about robbe. that the stars are so far away, the size of them, that they burn in azure blue and yellow and saffron red and that they sometimes die as bright as diamonds, too, and also that robbe studies biology and lives uptown and has always loved the universe. camille talks with robbe and finds herself clinging to him even more, letting him turn the pages while they stare at the pictures and read, just like the past time they were both sitting on this same sofa. like it's something they _do._

it feels nice. so, so nice.

"i see you two are already busy here?"

camille looks up and there he is, staring at them from the door, leaning against it slightly. sander is wearing a beanie too, and a scarf, like he's planning to leave just about now, and that makes her think that robbe must've come just to pick him up.

robbe shrugs as an answer, smiling slightly. camille can't help the instinct, though, tightening her grip on robbe's jacket without noticing. she doesn't want robbe to go. at least not yet. they have so much to talk about.

sander and him look at each other in that moment, like they're having a conversation only with their eyes —if they say something, camille at least doesn't hear a word. they must've said something to each other, though, because a second later sander starts walking and camille thinks he's going to the door, but instead he sits on the sofa in front of theirs and starts switching the channels on tv, combat boots still on, hiding a small smile.

camille thinks it's kind of weird, but robbe goes back to their book like nothing has happened, so she just counts herself lucky and keeps on talking to robbe about stars and constellations and galaxies, too, until it's late and they all have a big lunch together, some reheated pasta because sander can't cook that much.

also, who knows, really. maybe sander just dressed up because he was cold.

a couple days later, almost by mistake, camille finds a couple of careful sketches of her and robbe on that same sofa they were that first day, her leaning against him, a book on their laps. they're pinned on sander's window: when the light filters through the paper, it makes the drawing shine like it's made of jewels.

camille doesn't really know how sander could have done it, remember their exact faces and postures from that first day. she thought he had been asleep the whole time while they read, but sander even remembered their clothes, the book they were reading. he had drawn every single thing.

it feels almost impossible, drawing like that, but there it was. robbe and her, brought to life by sander's art.

almost like a miracle of memory.

\---

the air is ice cold the first time they go out together on christmas, sander and mama and her, after what camille has come to call in her head the _big bang._ she'd read it in one of her star books, tucked amongst constellations. _big bang: the cosmic explosion that marked the beginning of the universe._

the front door closed so loudly after dad had left forever, that grey, grey day. the world had changed so much after that.

the term had felt fitting.

sander is sixteen, out with friends and it's christmas, and the fair smells like apple cider and bonfire and melted sugar. camille feels a little bit dizzy with it all, the colours and the spinning rollercoasters and the thousand shooting posts. 

she sees it then, about to get on the carrousel. hidden in shadows. sander, still recently bleached, silver-haired and laughing, the tip of a cigarette glowing orange in the middle of the night, drinking from a bottle clear as glass. camile thinks he holds it like he's done it before. plenty of times before.

when sander realizes he's seen her, he grabs her so hard from the shoulders it almost hurts. 

"don't tell mama, okay?", sander pleads, eyes open wide. his breath smells like death. "she can't know about this".

"why?"

"she just can't, cam, okay?", and if sander says it, then that's it for camille.

camille never tells, even though she knows sander still does it in his room or the terrace, a lot of times. so mama never knows. 

it's not that hard, actually: for a while there, mama and sander haven't been talking that much.

it takes some time for things to change. a switch in the pattern. not until sander comes in stumbling a couple of weeks later a friday night when he was supposed to stay home with both of them, have a quiet movie night with her and mama.

he puked on the bathroom floor. the smell and noise were what woke camille up.

she observes from the door, bringing him a glass of water when mama tells her to do it. she eventually goes back to bed: camille doesn't care about the puking or the screaming, but then sander starts crying and mama makes her stay inside her room while she undresses sander in the floor of the bathroom, and that's the last thing camille sees: sander's naked arms, always so tiny. like little noodles.

the next morning, the sun rises like it always does and sander is the one camille's always known. she's never felt more relief in her life.

they have breakfast on the table, as always, but the silence is deafening. then sander talks.

it sounds like it costs him a lifetime to do so.

"you know i take pills, right? like when you have a cough?", sander starts, when they are having breakfast on the kitchen table. camille nods. his voice sounds so rough. mama just stays silent. "well, mine don't go well with some things i do. like what i did last night".

"what did you do?"

"it doesn't matter anymore", he says, and before camille can answer he's hugging her, both and mama, so hard she can't almost breathe. "i'm just sorry for what i did. for scaring you. i'm sorry".

they spend the morning watching cartoons, the three of them, reading one of camille's books.

sander really never does it again, not in the house. not the smoking, not the whatever-it-is thing he did that night. there's no stumbles, no more slurred words. no corner of the house smells like ash ever again.

\------

when people tell some kind of stories, they always talk about some kind of slow-motion. time slowing down, seeing things clearly.

there's no slow-motion for camille.

it all happens lightning fast. blink-of-an-eye fast. so fast, it feels almost like it doesn't happen at the same time. and then time rushes, trying to catch up with her, rushing forward, almost making her feel dizzy to the point of throwing up on the street.

it goes like this: the moment camille gets distracted and she feels the dog leash going loose in her hand, she knows she has screwed up.

it happens in a second. less than a second. bowie starts running away from her, and it's raining, and it was supposed to be a quick walk across the street and sander trusted her with it, sander told her _hold him tight okay? hold him very very tight_ a thousand times, but now bowie is gone and camille feels her heart churn until it becomes an impossible red knot in the middle of her chest.

when sander turns around, camille doesn't know how to say it.

"i, i just-"

it takes sander a second to understand and then he bolts. makes camille go back inside and then just bolts to the streets, under the pouring rain.

it takes an hour and thirteen minutes for him to come back. camille has counted them, each and every one, on the kitchen clock. every tick felt like a lifetime. when he comes back through the door, though, bowie is safely secured under his right arm, both of them soaked to the bone. 

that's the moment when camille realizes that sander ran outside with shorts and a shirt, not even having a jacket on.

when he crosses the door, he expects sander to start screaming, but he does none of it.

"come", says sander, picks her up slowly, and only then does camille realize that she's crying. she knows that she surely must be getting all her snot on his t-shirt, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"i'm sorry", she says, tries to bite down tears. "i'm so sorry, i promise i tried-"

sander hugs her tight, until she can feel it everywhere. "sshh, baby", he says, brushing his wet fingers through her hair. camille can feel his teeth slightly chattering. "do you want to help me towel bowie?", he asks then and camille nods, so they both towel him until he is fluffy and dry again, barking softly. sander is soaked to the bone still but camille says nothing about it, watches him just get rid of his t-shirt and just swap it for a dry one, sniffling a little on the process. 

sander wipes her tears softly with his thumbs when she starts crying again and camille feels a fraction of a bit better.

"hey, none of that, okay?", he says, slowly getting up. "it's okay, little monkey. we're okay".

when they wake up the next day, sander makes waffles with whipped cream, camille's favourite. bowie has a plate for him, too, sans the whipped cream, a bit of chicken on the side. when she sniffles a little, sander goes back to his room and brings one of his hoodies, the cosy one, all soft inside, wrapping her up in it.

camille gets sick and has a sore throat for days, but sander buys her pills and honey caramels and checks her temperature and makes her soup that tastes like chicken and spices, so it's okay.

sander is sick, too, or at least that's what camille thinks, but he says nothing about it, so camille doesn't bring it up either.

she gets nightmares for a while, about that hour and thirteen minutes where she didn't know what would happen in the end. where bowie was. where sander was. what was going to happen if bowie didn't appear.

they're lying on the sofa together when she wonders, for a moment, if that's how sander feels when he's down-down: like rain is pouring down on him and he's lost something that he doesn't know if he'll ever find again.

the thought shakes her and camille cuddles impossibly closer to sander, hugging him tightly until there's no space left between them, willing herself to become sander's own personal sun.

\--

one of the nights after dad has left, the emptiness thas used to feel numb suddenly has edges and everything hurts.

sander holds her through it the whole night, like she's breaking. is she breaking? camille doesn't know what breaking feels like.

maybe sander knows. maybe that's why he's holding her like this.

"everything's gonna get better", he whispers. "okay?"

it sounds easy when sander says it. camille cuddles a little bit closer, tries not to cry.

and actually, things do get better. mom and sander start splitting things, camille can tell. they both cook, they both clean. they both work, sander coming home late some evenings, smelling a bit like grease, making camille frown her nose slightly. 

but everything gets better. they make one croque less on sunday mornings, and it takes a while to get used to the silence, but it's okay.

sander is there, after all. that's all camille needs to know everything's gonna be alright.

\--

there's something about birthdays, camille thinks. something strange. she's turning eleven and there's double digits there, for the second time ever. it's this year, though, that she feels soberingly adult for the first time in her life. like the fact that those are two identical candles on top of her cake are some kind of statement.

the cake is decorated like a forest and it tastes like chocolate and strawberry jam: camille ends up dipping her fingers on the frosting and licking them clean more times than she can count, even before anyone has even arrived.

there's a lot of family coming today, mama and sander and the aunts and cousins, and it's not until they're all together when camille gets to open the gifts. they all buy her clothes, pretty shoes, a new disney movie. they are nice gifts.

sander gives her a microscope, shiny, silvery like the moon. there's a kit, too, to prepare her own slides: to take the world and change it a bit and then see it become huge under the glass.

"do you like it?", sander asks, shuffling slightly. "i could help you with the slides, i think that's gonna be tricky. like-"

camille doesn't wait. she hugs sander until her arms are hurting, feeling so happy she thinks she could burst.

when robbe comes too, a bit later on, he does it with a shy smile and a small packet in his hands.

"i thought you could like it", robbe says, and camille unwraps the gift quickly. the book is big and colourful, a molecule camille knows is water (two little circles and then one big between them) bright and big in the middle.

"it's an easier version of the book you have? you know, the one we read that day? not that you can't read that one!", robbe hurries, blushing. "i think this could help you get a better grasp on it before, though, before moving on. so you can understand it better".

camille likes it. camille loves it. she hugs robbe tight, letting her arms wrap around his middle, softly burrowing her head in his stomach.

"thanks, robbe", she says, looking up and smiling. she takes his hand and pulls him in, to the kitchen, where everyone is having breakfast already.

sander is waiting for them at the door, and when he kisses robbe's cheek camille looks away, rolling her eyes.

"camille, your croque is here!", mama says, and camille hurries to the table, picks her sandwich from the plate. it's just how she likes it, slightly burnt and so cheesy, melted butter on the outside. 

mama always makes the best croques when they are all together in times like this.

camille wants to ask robbe about the book while she eats, but she turns around to find him still outside, standing next to the entrance.

it's blink and you miss it, but camille is not dumb. 

she can feel it. robbe on the outside of the kitchen, looking at them. biting his lip. like he doesn't fit, and it astounds camille, because her aunts and cousins are nice, but she only sees them on special days. robbe is always around, robbe reads books with her, robbe makes her laugh.

at this point, robbe is actually more family than any of them are.

camille doesn't know how to say any of this, though. she's never been too good with words.

"do you want a bit of mine?", she asks instead, pointing her croque at robbe.

it takes him a second. robbe looks surprised at first, but then walks inside and grabs the bit camille is offering gingerly, like it's almost made of glass. robbe takes a small bite, softly, and camille could almost say that there's a glossy sheen in his eyes. but it can't be. she knows it can't be.

the croques aren't even hot. there's no way robbe burnt his tongue.

"thank you, camille", he says, after swallowing. "it's very good".

camille just smiles back, proudly. sander kisses her hair softly then, extending a hand to robbe after so he can take him around, present him to the rest of the family while they eat croques, just like they always do.

when the party ends, the moon is already hanging high from the sky and camille feels like her bones are made of lead. 

robbe hugs her tight when he's about to leave, lifting her from the floor.

"i have a last present for you", he whispers to her ear, secretly, and camille suddenly looks up. 

"really?", she asks. "another? what is it?"

robbe smiles, crossing his fingers over his mouth. "i can't tell you, but i promise you'll see it before closing your eyes tonight. you'll find it".

camille whines indignantly. "but robbe!", she starts, but robbe isn't having it.

"i promise, cutie. you're the best explorer in the world", and it's so nice. _cutie_. camille kisses his cheek softly and decides to blindly trust robbe.

after all, she's been trusting robbe for a long time now.

sander comes with her to her room that night before bed, after they've had dinner and said goodnight to mama. camille doesn't even remember leaving the door of her bedroom closed when she left this morning, but before she's even noticed she's in front of it, and it's not only closed —there's a note stuck to it.

sander takes it before camille can, reading it silently. he smiles, passing it to her instead of reading it out loud.

camille instantly recognizes robbe's chicken scratch writing.

_to camille. so the stars are never far away from you._

camille doesn't know what any of it means, but sander opens the door to her room and in the darkness of it, there they are: a thousand sticky glow stars, a pool of brightness against the stark darkness of the ceiling.

"i-", sander starts, stammering a little, staring up. "robbe asked me to get into your room while the party was going on, this afternoon", sander whispers. "i didn't know he was planning all this".

camille doesn't know what to say so they both go to bed with the lights still off, not daring to break the spell. they take their shoes off in the dark, silently, the plastic sky still glittering. 

camille imagines robbe standing up on her bed, sticking all that, maybe wearing those headphones he always has around his neck. the way he always encourages her, how he talks to her about the stars.

"i like robbe very much", camille whispers, softly, once they're already tucked in bed. "can we keep him, sander? pretty please?"

sander kisses her forehead, just a brush.

"for as long as i can hold on to him, baby", he says, and camille notices he's still looking up at the glowing stars, a dazed look. "i promise".

"then forever, sander, like the universe!", camille starts. "there are infinite parallel universes, you know? they are forever. they never end".

sander looks back at her, then. it's dark, but camille can make out the shape of a smile. "you are so smart. how are you so smart?"

"robbe taught me that when we were talking about planets the other day", camille shares, remembering the conversation, the theory of a thousand different universes all existing at the same time. a thousand different camilles all lying in her bed, except the stars are glowing maybe red or purple or dark green.

sander hums at her confession, softly. camille feels like he's almost keeping a secret. "you know what, monkey? robbe taught me that, too".

they stay in silence then, for a while. camille watches the ceiling, checks for the number of planets, the moons, the flying comets. she has her own universe now, whatever happens, waiting for her always in her room. maybe she'll get to keep robbe. and she has sander, too. sander brushing her hair, taking care of bowie, sander sleeping and drawing them from memory, sander lying with her in bed, sander always, in all her memories: sander now, almost asleep next to her, surrounded by a phosphorescent universe that belongs to the both of them now.

it's a very comforting thought.


End file.
